Monet, Giverny, and Homes that Reflect Our Souls
In June, my husband and I took our toddler to on a trip to St. Louis. We lived there for four years when we were first married, and my husband had some post-graduate work to do at his school there, so I decided to come along with him and bring our toddler. We took our son to all our favorite places: the fabulous children’s museum, the zoo, the botanical garden, Ted Drewes Frozen Custard, and a few restaurants.
I insisted on going to the art museum as well, and though we couldn’t stay long due to an abundance of toddler energy and his unwillingness to stay in the stroller, we did get to see the special exhibition they had displayed at the time. It was called “Monet/Mitchell: Painting the French Landscape.” As I stepped into the gallery, I was almost immediately met by Monet’s Water Lilies. I’d seen it in pictures, but never in person, and to look at it was to be transported into another world.
It was bigger than I expected, and as I feasted my eyes on it I felt that it was also feasting on me, swallowing me up. I stood there, feeling small in a good way, and I couldn’t help the tears welling in my eyes. I saw where he had added red and purple to the blues and greens. I examined how he painted the reflection of the willow tree in the pond with vertical strokes of green above and beneath the lilies. And though I didn’t know what time of day he meant it to look like, it reminded me of the golden hour, or twilight, when everything is just beginning to settle into sleep. To look at it was to look into a dream, to become a dream.
But a question bloomed in my heart. Why did the painting move me so much? Because it was beautiful? Because it touched something in me that needed to be ministered to?
Was it because I was told he was brilliant? Or because I saw that brilliance? Felt it?
My toddler kicking in the stroller brought me out of Monet’s French garden and back to the the St. Louis Art Museum. To keep him happy, we took him around the rest of the gallery and into the bookshop. Displayed on the shelves were many volumes on Monet, but the one that called to me most, and the one I ended up buying, was A Day with Claude Monet in Giverny by Adrien Goetz. I was taken by its pictures of not only Monet’s beautiful gardens, but also the inside of his home.
The green walls with blue trim! The paintings on every inch of wall space! The blue and white tiled kitchen! The forest green shutters and the floral sofas and the cheery, yellow dining room with gingham cushions on the chairs!
What inspired me about it was that it looked like an artist’s house. I could see that absolutely, yes, Monet lived here, Monet’s soul is here, this was his home. It was whimsical and colorful, homey and adventurous all at the same time. It was beautiful. And I felt that just by looking at it, I “knew” him a little bit better.
Back in California I stepped into my own home, book about Claude Monet in hand. I studied my own walls, textiles, and color choices. I inspected my teacups, planted some dahlias, and put on Vivaldi. Did my home reflect my own soul?
Maybe.
It feels like my home. I doubt it will be photographed for a magazine one day, or make a random mom in a random museum bookstore cry over its beauty. I certainly don’t have the skill to paint my garden any time soon, or probably ever. But it makes me happy. It makes my husband happy. It’s our own little space to raise our son and rest and be.
And sometimes, when the dogwood is blooming pink, the sunset has turned the sky into orange sherbet, and I’m in the living room laughing with my family after a good meal, it even feels a little bit brilliant.